


Roseberry Farm

by Miellat_II



Category: Furry (Fandom), Original Work
Genre: Breeding, Captivity, Enemas, F/F, F/M, Fattening, Livestock kink, Milking, Oviposition, farm setting, humans in a furryverse, mixture of civilised and feral furries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-01 20:24:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17250821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miellat_II/pseuds/Miellat_II
Summary: A little story about a little farm named Roseberry.





	1. Morning Chores

**Author's Note:**

> This setting is one that's been in my head for... a lot of years. I'm not really sure how to describe it, because I've never seen anything like it before. I hope you like it.

The farmer was a tall lady, with a severe, sharp sort of beauty to her face, and a mouth that was perhaps a little too big. She always wore boots to the thigh, and there was an ample corset over her jodpuhrs and rolled up sleeves, her tits on full display to the sun, because it pleased her to feel the sun on them. Her sun-bleached hair was wound up in braids and pinned up out of the way. Her skin had become very tan over the years, but her nipples were very pink and very big, and glinted in the sunlight with the little plugs she kept in them to keep them from leaking milk.

The pig was always first, as she lived indoors to protect her naked skin from the sun. She was at her morning trough, her belly straining even beneath the fat to hold everything. The farmer had been increasing her breakfast in increments, making sure her belly was always stretched. The pig looked up at her Mistress lovingly, and the farmer reached out, letting the pig nuzzle her hand, smiling down at her.

‘And how are we today, Cupcake? Did we like those strawberries? Oh my, yes, yes we _did_ like those strawberries.’ Despite her smile, her affectionate chatter, she was always composed. ‘Good girl, let me see that belly.’

Cupcake obliged proudly, rolling onto her back and revelling in the way Mistress ran a firm touch along her belly, squeezing gently at the fat to see how thick it was.

‘Oh, my, yes, we _are_ fattening up _very_ well, that’s a _good_ girl, Cupcake. Let’s see your little teats now…’

Cupcake squirmed a little, squealing happily as her owner squeezed each and every teat, making sure they were healthy. Cupcake knew what came next, and spread her thighs expectantly. Gloved hands reached through the rails of the pen and spread her labia.

‘Mm, and we _are_ wet today,’ Mistress said in a pleased voice, holding the pig’s fat labia open and stroking the pudgy clit with her gloved thumb. ‘Are we coming up into heat, hmm? Shall I call down Mr Barlowe from the city, little missy?’

Cupcake squealed and giggled, wriggling beneath Mistress’ touch. The farmer laughed gently.

‘A few more days, I think, you’re not flushed yet.’ And the pig’s pink skin would make the flush very obvious. The farmer straightened, and moved on along the path, out of the barn and along to the chicken coop. There were three chickens, all of whom came outside and crowded the fence, clucking and chirruping as soon as they saw her. She carefully opened the gate, and the warm feathery bodies of the chickens pressed against her, hopping up and down in excitement.

‘Hush now, chickies,’ she admonished with a gentle curl to her lips, crossing over to their water and food, seeing that it was full, and opening the drawers of the coop to retrieve the eggs, putting them into her basket. But there was one missing, and she looked over at Coffee, the little brown one, who was, she noticed, not quite as bouncy and enthusiastic as her sisters.

‘Coffee, Coffee what’s the matter, sweetheart?’ The farmer put her basket down on a sturdy little ledge made just for that, and put her hands on her thighs to bend down, reaching for the little hen. ‘What is it, precious, come here, come here chickie, let Mistress know what’s the matter….’

Coffee came forward and let her Mistress stroke her face, fluffing her feathers in pleasure and even, despite her discomfort, beginning to coo softly at the caress, even as Mistress gently probed beneath her fluff and feathers, and found her belly distended. Coffee made a much sharper noise, and Mistress pulled her gentle hand away.

‘Oh, poor Coffee, how long has that been stuck in there, chickadee?’ She picked Coffee up and put her in the smaller part of the pen, that was fenced off so that other hens couldn’t peck or jostle her, but they could see one another. There was a soft pile of hay and grass clippings in it, and Coffee immediately went over to gingerly lay down, clucking in distress as she tried to keep laying the egg that was stuck inside her. She knew Mistress would come back, and maybe take her inside. She hoped Mistress wouldn’t call the vet. She’d never gotten an egg stuck long enough for Mistress to _notice_ , before….

‘I’ll be back for you, Coffee,’ the farmer promised, petting the chicken’s little cheeks. ‘Don’t you fret, chickie, we’ll get that big, mean egg out.’

Coffee felt a little better, at the reassurance that Mistress would help.

The farmer walked along the path, the sun feeling warm and wonderful on her skin, and the sheep and the cow started coming over to the fence, their little bells jingling as they called out to her. The pony, farther away, heard them calling and started on his way over too, prancing and tossing his head, the brass of the cage around his cock shining and glinting in the sunlight. He even bucked playfully, in such high spirits, and whickered in pleasure when he made his Mistress laugh.

The little merino sheep, the farmer noted, was starting to get frisky. During the winter, her fleece got so long that her cunt was buried beneath it, and while the morning enemas helped her eliminate without soiling her fleece, the farmer had not yet seen fit to see to the sheep’s other needs, which the sheep thought was strange and unfair. (What Flossy didn’t know was that her farmer had heard of problems with the new attachment that serviced the sheep in all ways during the winter, and how intractable the sheep became when they had no incentive to behave during shearing. The farmer had decided she would keep the old fashioned ways, she liked her lamb obedient.)

The cow, on the other hand, was so gentle and obliging a soul that she had become the favourite, and people paid very large sums of money to be allowed to get her with calf. She was no special breed, a mix that the farmer had rescued as a calf, and she was the best milch cow in the county, her udders needing to be milked at least three times a day and once a night. Despite the extra work this made her, the farmer had always loved Princess dearly, she being the first animal the farmer had ever cared for by herself. It was milking time now, and Princess’ udders were swollen, blue veins standing out on the reddened flesh. She came and stood over by the gate near the barn patiently, swishing her brown tail and making the soft lowing that signalled she hurt and wanted milking.

‘I’m here, Princess, I’m here, don’t fret,’ the farmer soothed gently, opening the gate. Fancy and Flossy did not crowd Princess, and the cow walked through without needing a lead, standing quietly by her beloved Mistress—and mother, for she had never known her mother, she had been raised only by the farmer’s hands. She walked carefully to the barn on her own, and found her own way into her milking stall, standing patiently with her tail raised. Morning milk came with being attached to the machine that filled her with comforting warmth. Flossy had told her about it, and after a great deal of misbehaving, Princess had gotten her Mistress to understand she, too, wanted to feel the weighty stretch of a plug, to have an enema every morning, just like Flossy. It was unheard of for a cow, cows not needing such extreme hygiene; but the farmer had gotten a second sheep rig and obliged Princess—if only to stop her from hurting herself by digging up the radishes and trying to use those.

The farmer entered the barn after a few moments, not in a rush, and Princess stood perfectly still as Mistress tapped the insides of her thighs to get her to open her legs just a little wider, just a little wider, and scratched the base of her tail in reward, making Princess lift her tail even more, in pleasure.

‘Good girl, Princess. You’re being _so_ calm this morning, what a nice mood you must be in.’ She attached the plug to the machine, which began to spread the plug, starting to stretch Princess’ anus to its limit, before the warm and vitamin-enriched water began to flow into the cow’s bowels. The machine wasn’t meant for cows, which was why the farmer had to watch, pressing gently on Princess’ belly every so often to make sure all was well.

Princess’ little anus was stretched very tight around the brass prongs, and she moaned in discomfort. The farmer pulled off her gloves, and put some lubricant on her hand before reaching below her cow’s anus and finding her fat little clit, pulling the hood softly over the glans and releasing.

‘Shhh, my good girl,’ she murmured gently, sliding her other hand into the cow’s slit. ‘Shh, sweetheart, let’s make it feel better….’

Princess bowed her head, holding tight to the grab-bar and twisting it back and forth in her pleasure. When Mistress worked her hand into a fist, Princess tensed and twitched around her, the pleasure thrumming in her hips, making the tightness of her udders almost unbearable—but she liked to nuzzle Mistress while she was being milked, and she didn’t mind waiting under after her enema, if it meant she could nuzzle Mistress while being milked..

Her belly felt so full and warm and heavy, and Mistress began to gently move her hand in, and then not quite so far in, and the hand playing with Princess’ clit began to pull and hold out the hood, and rub it between her fingertips, and between that and the pressure in Princess’ belly, the stretch in her bottom, Princess came, just as the machine started to drain her belly, so it felt like her pulses of orgasm were pushing the water out, which was very satisfying.

Mistress went to the sink to strip off her gloves and wash her hands, but didn’t put her gloves back on, and went around to let Princess put her face in the farmer’s chest, the cow nuzzling like a calf and lowing, as calves did to their mothers.

Would she feel like suckling today? The farmer wondered, stroking her face. As a calf, Princess had often tried to suckle the farmer’s chest, and the farmer had gently tried to deter her for a long time, until one night she’d woken up to a naughty calf having broken out of her pen in the living room and having found her way to her adoptive mother’s udder in the middle of the night.

It had felt good, physically; and the happiness it gave Princess was so acute that the farmer didn’t have the heart to stop her any longer. As she’d gotten older, Princess had naturally stopped suckling quite so often; but she’d never stopped wanting to put her head against her Mistress’ chest. The farmer indulged her during milking, and during the nightly midnight milking even sometimes fell asleep for a short time, comforted by the familiar combination of fuzzy warmth and wet cold nose of her ‘baby’ taking comfort in her presence.

This morning, Princess seemed very lovey indeed, and the farmer switched on the milking machine only shortly before Princess’ cold, wet little mouth found one of her nipples, mouthing gently before starting to suckle. The farmer rubbed her face and scratched her forehead gently. The plugs guaranteed no milk would come out, but the action itself seemed to be what Princess liked. She would break off and switch nipples at random, sometimes spending a long time just pressing her face between them. It was one of the other reasons the farmer never clothed her breasts while she was at home.

The milking machine’s rhythmic chugging was soothing, and the farmer stood there quietly with her favourite of her animals, she and her cow not needing else, not after so many years. When the milking was done, she detached the machine and checked Princess’ udders, then carefully pulled the plug from her anus and gave her a full rub down, though it was too late in the year for a water-bath, and carefully washed between the cow’s thighs with a warm damp flannel to get the lube out of her, as it was a little sticky if it dried. Then, the farmer replaced the plug.

‘There we are, all ready for the day,’ the farmer said, scratching the base of her cow’s tail again. Princess walked with her back to the pasture and went in the gate, immediately going over to a sunny patch of grass and laying down for a nap. When the stallion went over to sniff at her, and then start pushing at her, the farmer whistled sharply to him.

‘Stop it, Fancy!’

The stallion wasn’t stubborn, and usually a sharp tone and a whistle was all he needed to feel reprimanded; he broke off, immediately trotting up to her and nuzzling her, seeking forgiveness and reassurance. She obliged him.

‘That’s right, Fancy, good boy listening, but you have to leave your sisters alone when they want to take a nap. Now,’ she said, ‘how are we today, Fancy?’ She looked him over, and he wasn’t as still  or obedient as Princess, sniffing her hair and chest, his whiskery nose tickling her skin. But the farmer was used to this, and forcibly pushed him around, as horses understood discipline to be, and Fancy went still when Mistress’ hand went between his muscled grey thighs, checking over the brass cage around his cock, checking under his tail and touching his heavy balls with affection.

‘Goooood boy, Fancy. Good boy. Good boy, holding so still for Mistress….’

Fancy’s ears perked up at the praise, and he held even more still, relaxing as he felt his farmer caress him thoroughly.

‘Well, laddiebuck, it’s been a while, and I think we’ll call Lady Stoddard down from the city soon, would you like that, hm?’ She rubbed his neck. ‘I bet you would. She’s about due to want to visit.’

Flossy was wandering over, and shoved at Fancy a bit in her impatience (though she wasn’t nearly big enough to be effective), bleating.

‘Oh, are we especially fussy this morning, my dear?’ the farmer said, watching as Flossy put her own halter on and held out the lead for her Mistress to take. The farmer chuckled and took the end of it, wrapping it around her hand a few times for security—Flossy was her most mischievous charge, and had tried to bolt before. But today she was perfectly happy to trot along beside the farmer, going a little ahead of her into the barn, for her turn. She didn’t get milked, but that was perfectly all right with _her_. She didn’t see the point of being milked.

Maybe she could get Mistress to touch her… she was very good, trotting after Mistress, and nuzzling her, and not wiggling _at all_ even though she usually _did_.

Mistress knew exactly what was going on, and as much as it broke her heart to have to deny one of her animals anything, she knew it was for the best. Flossy was a little _too_ high-spirited when she was satisfied. She tended to rough-house with her paddock-mates and escape more often. So, despite her hopefully-lifted tail and her uncharacteristically docile temper, the farmer did not reward her with more than a strawberry to eat. Flossy took it, but ate it rather sulkily.

‘I know,’ her Mistress said gently, as she closed the paddock gate behind her. ‘You’re old enough to know how this goes, Flossy.’

Flossy bleated at her grumpily, stomping off to graze. Princess looked over, but left her alone after seeing she was in a Mood. Princess came over to the fence, however, with a hopeful little low, putting her head over the railing for pets.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I fucking love Lady Stoddard.

The farmer went about her day, hither and thither, doing this, cleaning that, and the animals found her constant presence comforting. She called the vet about her hen (and Dr Herriot fit her in for an emergency appointment that afternoon); and the Stoddard residence for her pony. Lady Felicia picked up, her voice as smooth and liquid as any lioness’, Rs rolled and vowels high and aristocratic.

‘ _Stoddard_ Residence, _Lady_ of the house speaking.’

‘Good afternoon, milady,’

‘Oh, my _dear!’_ Lady Felicia said, delighted to hear the cracked voice of her prized stud’s keeper. ‘How _are_ you, darling? Only it’s been so _busy,_ you know, with the Season—how is our Fancy?’

‘He’s splendid and sweet, and how are his yearlings?’

‘Oh, they’re _grand,_ my dear, just _grand._ Fetched a _wonderful_ price from a gentlewolf who came _all_ the way down from the mountains to _see_ them, you know. He needed a pair for his new _coach._ Oh, they’re such _wonderful_ little ponies, my dear, you really are our _secret weapon.’_

The farmer smiled. ‘You are due for a visit, I think.’

‘Oh, I believe we _are_ , my dear, I believe we _are._ I was _just_ going to call you, my dear—this wolf was asking after the _sire_ , you know. And I told him he was _ours_ , but you know _wolves_ , my dear, you know _wolves_.’

The farmer made a polite noise of agreement. Lady Felicia was the eldest of the Stoddard lionesses, and had rather materteral Opinions of other species. She _also_ was so euphemistic about it that it was hard to know just exactly _what_ she meant, which made it more amusing than anything, especially to a human like the farmer.

‘I _do_ need to come into town to take little Coffee to the vet…’ the farmer began, knowing Lady Felicia would interrupt.

‘Oh, my _word!’_ Lady Felicia gushed, all sympathy immediately. ‘What’s bothering the poor _little_ thing?’

‘She’s got a stuck egg. Hers always did seem too big for her body.’

‘Poor _dear_ , happens to the _best_ of us,’ Lady Felicia murmured. ‘I daresay, it’s happened to Lady _Isabelle_ more than _once,_ you know! Well, I know how you _are,_ my _dear_ , so I shan’t insist you stay _long_ —though _he_ might.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘Hmph. Well, _he_ shall have to be _content_ with whatever time you _grant him.’_

Because it wasn’t as though this wolf were ever going to visit Roseberry, oh no, indeed. That was part of the agreement. Nobody in the equestrian world used Fancy as a stud except the Stoddards. It wasn’t an unusual agreement, but it always amused the farmer just how fussy the predator classes were, about status, and etiquette, and _territory_.

‘I shall be there soon, milady. I have to make a few other calls first.’

‘Of _course_ my dear, of _course_. We shall look _forward_ to your arrival—la, the cubs will be so _pleased_ to see their _Auntie.’_

The farmer chuckled, blushing. To be included as an Auntie among a pride of lions was honour indeed, and she knew it. She said her goodbyes and called Mr Rutherford. It had been a while since Princess had a visitor, and the farmer knew Princess very much liked Mr Rutherford.

Mr Rutherford was not difficult to like. A very large, very fat bull, he had the booming laugh of most of those people, and was merry enough to startle folk who were unused to him. The farmer had known him as the buyer of most of Princess’ milk, and after discreet inquiry as to his background, had received a very enthusiastic reply making known that should the farmer wish Princess to calf, Mr Rutherford would be more than happy to breed a line of high butterfat milchcows with her.

The farmer had been considering this for some time, perhaps too much time for it to happen this year—but it was only just crisp in the evenings, and this was no climate to have frost in autumn. It was early, yet, the calf would still be born in spring. Princess would be a good mother, the farmer thought. She already mothered Fancy and Flossy a little, licking them and laying down with them when they seemed to need it most. And any calf of hers would be quite a good milchcow, and the Farmer had wanted another one.

‘Rutherford and Sons, Ice Cream Ex- _traor_ -din-aire, how may we sweeten your day?’

‘Hello, Mr Rutherford, it’s Roseberry Farm.’

‘Oho! Hello there! Friday already, is it?’

The Farmer chuckled—it was true, she only talked to Mr Rutherford on Fridays, when she came to deliver the weekly milk he used to make his ice-cream. He insisted on making it himself, from Absolute Scratch. ‘I wonder if you wanted to come down to see to Princess?’

‘Oh, can’t get away until tonight, will the dear be awake?’

‘I’m sure she will, she has night visitors enough to know what it means.’ And to get very excited to see a car arriving at night, too—unless it was blaring loud music. Then she only got annoyed. The only car that blared loud music was never for her, it was always for the chicken coop. And she hated Mr Hoenn, in a way that Princess did not do. She was perfectly sweet to everyone, but had taken an instant dislike to the rooster, one that Flossy shared. Both turned into little devils, when Mr Hoenn came to call. He didn’t really help matters, and it was very lucky he was the only one with his plumage in the county, or the Farmer would end her acquaintance with him and have done with the headache.

‘Turn your music down as you come up the drive, please,’ the Farmer said firmly, and knew Mr Rutherford would listen. She said her goodbyes and went to shower off, putting on her fanciest bustier and a shirred white sheath dress with a sweetheart neckline, touched up her legs and oiled them, and put on heeled peeptoes, and doing her hair and face to match. She was seeing the Stoddards, she had to dress nicely—and a mini dress would be of great assistance if she had to run about with the cubs.

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna talk to me real-time, come on over to [the discord](https://discord.gg/uVJR3ad)! And don't be a stranger, hear?


End file.
